Where I Keep My Strength
by ICanSeeYourFace
Summary: When she was 12 she couldn't remember if he had been real or not, and soon he was just another character she had dreamed up. Years later, he walks into her life again, no longer broken, but in need of insight. Post-movie. Alexandria/Roy. Complete for now.


**A/N:** A while ago, I watched Tarsem Singh's _The Fall_, and I fell in love. It's an absolutely beautiful and heartbreaking movie that you should all see in case you haven't. This fic came about around the time I watched the movie for the third time and found a couple of amazing fanfics for _The Fall_. I'm hoping I can keep up the standard, because none of the already existing fanfics for this movie are anything less than stellar.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or the storyline from _The Fall_.

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_Where I Keep My Strength_

He looked just like she had imagined him.

No, Alexandria corrected herself. Like she_ remembered _him. The friendly face with the green eyes that had cried as he had pled with her to see the truth behind his lies, the mouth that she had childishly kissed trying to bring him back to life. He was every bit the same Roy she had befriended while in the hospital all those years ago, but part of her was still fighting, still telling her that this could not be true. There had never been a man who told her stories at the hospital. Not a real one.

Alexandria had left the hospital before he did, returning to the grove to pick oranges with her mother and sister. She would sometimes wonder what Roy did, if he had found someone else to pinch his toes for him. She would sneak into movie theatres and she would see him in every movie; every man who did something dangerous had his face, and it would give her comfort.

But as weeks became months and months became years, she thought of him less and less. His features remained sharp in her memories, but the circumstances blended together until one day when she was 12 she couldn't remember if he had been real or not. So, she convinced herself that the sad man with the broken spine and the broken spirit was just as much a figment of her vivid imagination as the masked bandit in the story. Everything about her stay at the hospital became a blur, except for the sad man and the story. Alexandria had told herself that the only reason she remembered him so clearly, the way his face looked and toes felt, was because she had made him up. Nothing that happened in reality stood out with such clarity. The man was not real, he was as unreal as the _baubau_ her mother had scared her and her sister with when they were little. He was not real.

Yet there he was, sitting at the table and waiting expectantly for her to say something. She found herself dumbstruck, afraid that if she opened her mouth it would all come out in the gibberish-English she had spoken as a young girl. She was 17 now, working as a waitress at a café across the road from the Universal Studios backlot. The owner appreciated her because she was not starstruck like some of her co-workers. If a movie star did happen to walk through the doors (which rarely happened), Alexandria either didn't recognize them or she didn't care. She treated them just the same way she treated the regular customers who came in for their morning coffee.

She now wondered if this was what if felt like to be starstruck. It was an odd feeling, something like joy and shock and triumph all neatly rolled together. She had not seen him come in. The bell above the door had rung, signaling a new customer. It was a common enough sound, and Alexandria had not turned around. Instead, she had finished loading up the coffee machine before taking her little notebook and looking out over the tables. She had spotted the newcomer in a booth in the far right corner, his back to her, and she hurried over. When he looked up, she was glad she had not brought the almost empty coffee pot with her. She would have dropped it and it would have shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Sort of like her mind was falling to pieces right now.

Alexandria recognized him instantly. He did not. For seconds, he just peered at her, waiting for her to snap out of it. She did not. Not until he addressed her.

"Miss, are you all right?"

Her eyes found focus again, zeroing in on his lips, the ones that had told her lies and stories.

"A-Alexandria," she stuttered, fearing that anything more would make her look like a fool.

He furrowed his brow, and she felt her heart begin to sink. He didn't remember her. He didn't...

"The little girl from the hospital?"

His face lit up as he made the connection, and he scanned her face for familiar features. She slowly took out the bobby pins that held her braided hair back, and positioned her left arm as if the cast was still there.

"Alexandria the great," he murmured, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She nodded fervently, elated that he remembered her.

"Roy," she finally managed to say, not even stumbling on his name.

There was a sense of security in saying his name, in knowing he had been real, and that she had not imagined a time in her life that had been equal parts sad and exciting. There had been a man named Roy, who could not feel his toes.

"You can walk!"

The words spluttered out of her, far louder than she had intended. Horrified, she clamped her hands over her mouth, and tried not to blush. Roy gave a low laugh.

"I can," he affirmed, then looked mischievously at her. "Do you want to touch my toes to make sure?"

This time, she couldn't help but blush. He really did remember her.

"What happened after I left?"

His presence brought out her accent even more. She had tried hard over the years to push it aside, but it lingered in the vowels, the way she glided over the L's.

Roy told her another story. About a man who was once a masked coward and then ended up not feeling his legs and toes. A man who stayed in bed for almost a year before he could walk properly again. He told her how the doctors forbade the children from straying into the adult ward after what he did to her. He thought about her during his year in bed, waited for the quick pitter-patter of feet and the rustling of the bed hanging. He waited for something that never came. When Roy was finally discharged he had tried to return to the movie studio, but found it unbearable. Too many bad memories. Constant reminders of the life that never was.

"I tried finding you," he admitted, looking down at his hands. "I just never realized how many orange groves there are around here."

She smiled, and her heart beat picked up at the idea of Roy trying to look for her.

"I wanted to apologize. I was mean to you, and I hurt you." She recognized the voice. It was _his_ voice, the voice he had used when she woke up from the surgery. The sad and desperate voice of a man with nothing left to live for. "I should not..."

His voice broke, and he fell silent, unable to continue. Alexandria sat down opposite him and took his hand.

"I don't blame you," she told him, trying to make eye contact. "I was too young to understand, I only wanted to hear more of the story about the masked bandit."

He remained silent, closing his eyes so they wouldn't find hers. He was still ashamed of the way he had manipulated her. Using a small child to assist him in his death. Not only did he manage not to commit suicide, he was the cause to her second fall, one that easily could have killed her.

"Do you remember what you told me about the old man's teeth?"

Roy looked up at her, confused.

"I... I told you he kept his strength in them. That's why he took them out at night and kept them safe."

"Where did you keep your strength?"

The question was simple, yet he found it difficult to answer. Where had he kept his strength? By the same logic that compelled then 5-year-old Alexandria to believe that strength was in your teeth, he should have been strong. But he had been broken, both in strength and spirit, and it had absolutely nothing to do with his teeth. The logical answer would have been his legs, but Roy knew that wasn't it. Strength was not in your legs.

"Think about it, I'll bring you some coffee."

With a reassuring smile, she got up, briskly walking over to the counter to take the steaming pot of coffee and a cup. Roy was still lost in thought when she returned, so she set the cup down before him, patted him softly on the shoulder and continued to work. A couple of construction workers came in for their usual lunch, so she ended up leaving him to sit there a good while longer than she had intended. Bustling about the café, she wondered if he didn't have someplace to be, a schedule to keep. Wouldn't he be late for filming? But Roy made no sign of leaving, he stayed in his place, slowly depleating his cup of coffee.

When the construction workers finally left and the place once again quieted down, she walked over to him, sitting down opposite him. He was still nursing the cup of coffee, which she found strangely fascinating. Seconds ticked on by, and neither of them said a single word. There was comfort in that, too. Sitting quietly and knowing they were there. For so long she had believed he was just another character she made up, and he had not known where she had ended up after being discharged from the hospital. Knowing exactly where the other was gave them a kind of peace that could not be explained.

She wished silence could say more. She wanted to tell him about all the things his epic tale inspired her to do; how she planted the mystic's teeth inside a hollowed out orange half, the times she would run around the grove with her sister to catch Americana Exotica (or something she thought was Darwin's elusive butterfly), the terrifying move from the safety of the orange trees to the city. She wanted to tell him about Katja, the girl she shared an apartment with, how Katja kept her awake by playing the piano through the nights. Alexandria said none of these things, she found herself unable to form the words, unable to adequately convey the feelings and experiences. The English language still guarded that secret from her.

"You."

Roy's one-word sentence interrupted her musings about language barriers. Had he been talking to her for long? Had she missed an entire conversation? She observed him, puzzled by the simple statement.

"That's where I keep my strength," Roy continued, when she couldn't make the connection.

"Me?" It didn't even make sense once put in context.

"Before your little note fluttered in through the window, I was weak. I was broken, with nothing left in my life to fight for." He paused for a short moment, gathering his thoughts. "And... I admit, for a while I fought only because I thought if I could... fall asleep..." Alexandria noted he avoided the word suicide. "...then everything would be fine. Nothing could hurt me anymore. I didn't consider the consequences of using you. I told you a story to get my hands on morphine. But then you fell."

Roy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Alexandria's hand flew up to the back of her head, smoothing down her hair where she knew she had a scar from the stitches.

"I watched you while you were waking up after the surgery. I saw what I had done, and I still wanted to die."

"That's why you killed everyone in our story?" Alexandria commented solemnly, taking his hand.

His face had a visibly pained expression on it, and she wanted to once again tell him it wasn't his fault. In her mind, Roy might have died had she not fallen. If not for the unfortunate misstep, she would have given him a bottle full of morphine pills, and her black bandit would not have triumphed over Governor Odious. It would have been a completely different story.

Roy nodded in reply to her question, drawing a shaky breath and gulped down the last of his lukewarm coffee.

"You pleaded with me, do you remember?" he asked, finally looking into her eyes.

"You promised not to kill the bandit. His daughter loved him."

It was her way of saying she had loved him, maybe even beyond the childish love of a 5-year-old. She had cared for him and hugged him and smiled toothy smiles for him. She had written herself into the story so she could be part of his world, she had begged for his life when he had lost all hope in himself.

"I wasn't strong before I met you," Roy continued with a small smile, "even though I had teeth. And then, even after I told you how I had tricked you, you still refused to give up on me. You forced me to live."

"I was very... strongminded?" she explained, unsure of whether strongminded was an actual word.

"That's where I ended up keeping my strength. In you. In the little bandit who forced me to see the world as it really was."

"But... I left the hospital..."

"You were still there, in my thoughts. I had your drawing, and the cloth with the coffee stain on it, I had oranges and I had our story. There were pieces of you left even after you were gone, so I always had my strength with me," he explained, then quickly added: "And I've needed it."

"You have?"

"I quit the studio I was working at. I went around Hollywood, asking other studios to hire me."

"And did they? Did you make more pictures?" Alexandria asked excitedly, wanting to know if she had really seen him in the movies she had sneaked into.

"A few," he admitted, with a sly smile. "I haven't made any in a while, though. I work behind the camera now. I'm too old to jump off of bridges and fall out of burning buildings."

"I'm glad to hear that."

The bell jingled, and another stream of customers entered. She gave him an apologetic smile and returned to the counter. Part of her expected him to leave, he had had his cup of coffee, they had had their little talk. But Roy stayed. He ordered another coffee, sat quietly in his booth while she served customers and rang up their charges. He didn't leave. She didn't bother pinning back her braids, letting them dance freely on her back, and she could feel his smile when she brought a plate of sandwiches to a couple sitting in the booth next to Roy's.

He stayed until closing time. The cook had already left fifteen minutes ago, and the only thing left to do was ring up Roy's two cups of coffee, count and hide the cashbox and then close up. He tipped her, more generously than she liked, but he wouldn't take her no's for an answer. He waited patiently while she counted (and recounted, because she kept losing track of the amount when she would look up at him and find him smiling) the day's cashflow.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" he asked her when she closed up.

She had never been asked that question in her life. She had read about it in books, but she had never experienced it. In the grove there was never any need for a gentleman to follow her home, she knew the paths and shortcuts like the back of her hand.

"I... That... would be nice," Alexandria stuttered, and Roy offered his arm for her to take.

The walk home, all five blocks, was surreal. She realized how tall she was, how strange it was to see him look down at her instead of being of nearly equal height. He made sure her arm was tucked in between his, occasionally pulling her closer when someone sinister-looking passed them. He was every bit the gentleman, and Alexandria was not sure how to react. They made smalltalk without saying much of real importance, and in hindsight she would marvel at the fact that she actually found her way home in her dazed state.

They arrived at the apartment building she lived in. She could hear Katja playing another symphony, she recognized it as one of Beethoven's. Katja played it incessantly.

"Thank you. For following me home," she told Roy, hesitantly letting go of his arm.

"It was my pleasure, Miss Alexandria."

She scrunched up her nose. Miss Alexandria. It sounded so wrong coming from Roy. She had always been Alexandria. Alexandria the Great.

"What?" Roy laughed at her expression.

"Just Alexandria."

"Very well, little bandit."

She thought about him, how he had said she was his source of strength. Alexandria realized how unfair it was, she had so many fond memories of him. She had the vivid images of their story, a few items she had happened to bring home from the hospital. He had a twelve-year-old drawing and a story that wasn't meant to be what it turned into.

"Wait here," she ordered him, then quickly slipped inside the building.

She quickly ascended the stairs, sneaking into the apartment without Katja noticing. Rummaging through her things, she finally found what she was looking for. Tucking it under her arm, she snuck out again, almost flying down the flight of stairs. Her pulse raced, hoping Roy had stayed.

He had. He stood in the exact same spot where she had left him. Not wasting any time, she ran out and more or less shoved the wooden box into Roy's hands, causing him to almost drop it.

"What..?"

"Open it."

He looked suspiciously at her, but never the less flipped open the lid. A look of recognition spread across his face. He remembered the box. It was packed full now. She had saved a lot of things over the years, but far under all of it, there were things from her time at the hospital. Nurse Evelyn's lipstick. The paper mask Sinclair's friend had cut out for her, a jack of hearts from the priest's deck of cards. The wrapping paper from the bar of chocolate Roy had given her in exchange for her opening Walt's cabinet and retrieving the bottle of pills.

"I want you to have it," she said resolutely as Roy skimmed through the contents of the box.

"These are your things, Alexandria," he protested, but she shook her head.

"I want you to have them. For strength."

"Won't you miss them?"

She shook her head again. But Roy was as stubborn as she was. He refused to take the photos of her family and her friends from the grove. They bickered for a good fifteen minutes, before they had divided the contents of the box between them. Roy still got most of it. She only kept the two photos, the small elephant and the bandit mask, _"because every little bandit needs a mask,"_ as Roy kept telling her. The paper was yellowed and brittle, but she still put it on, and for a second she felt like she was back at the hospital with him again.

"Thank you for walking me home," she said, carefully pushing up the paper mask, breaking the fantasy.

"Thank you for letting me," Roy replied politely.

Alexandria didn't really know what possessed her to do what she did next. She should've just said goodnight. Instead, she got up in the tip toes, and leaned in to give Roy a kiss on the cheek. Maybe it was just a silly attempt to travel back in time again, to those moments when she would kiss him on the cheek, and it was the most natural thing. Maybe. But Roy caught her movement and angled his head. Instead of a kiss on the cheek, she kissed him on the mouth. His soft lips pressed against hers, and she froze. She had kissed him on the lips before. He had been asleep, he probably didn't even realize it. They had been in the desert, and he was slowly fading away (or so he thought), and it was not the time to sleep. But no amount of kisses or touches could bring him out of it.

This was different. This was an accidentally on purpose-kiss, quick as lightning yet at the same time lasting a lifetime. Anyone else would have told her it was a small peck, but to Alexandria, it was so much... more. She stood frozen, eyes wide open, unable to utter a word. Roy smiled a lopsided smile before wishing her goodnight and walking off into the dark evening. As if in a trance, she walked inside and up the stairs. Her fingers traced her mouth, the sensation of his lips on hers lingering like a fingerprint. It felt like... home. Like something she would've put in the box to remember.

And that was it. She had given him something to remember her by, something to keep him strong. He gave her a kiss, a physical memory to remember him by. A kiss was absolute. It could not be imagined, couldn't be replicated. It was perfect.

When Alexandria went to bed, she felt lightheaded. The events of the day swam around her head. The air seemed to be buzzing with electricity. Roy's voice sounded in her mind, like the crackling voice on a radio station just out of range.

_"Close your eyes..."_

She didn't even have to rub her eyes. The starry night came as soon as her lids fluttered close. She was five years old again. Butterfly reef lay seemingly calm, but the Indian was fast approaching. Alexandria smiled in her sleep. Roy was strong now. Maybe they could save their friends this time? The Indian broke the surface, they all turned to look expectantly at him. Alexandria took Roy's hand. They were stronger now.

This would be a different story.

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**A/N:** Not sure if this is a finished story to be honest. Might turn into more chapters if I find the inspiration. It feels finished, yet not. Hmm. Whatever it is, please leave a review and tell me what you thought! :)


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